


Dimly Lit Desperation

by 27Vespertine



Category: Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Set in the first Hunger Games
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-29
Updated: 2018-02-13
Packaged: 2019-03-09 19:55:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13488639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/27Vespertine/pseuds/27Vespertine
Summary: It's supposed to be a strategy for survival. He knows it's just a strategy, but it does nothing for the emptiness he feels.Why does it look so real?





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> It's been a while since I was active in this fandom, but this little story just rolled out during the time that I read Hunger Games fanfictions.  
> Also my very first attempt at writing in English (some years ago), combined with some editing I did before posting this here. Comments or suggestions are very welcome.   
> Enjoy! <3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gale misses Katniss. He knows she doesn't expect to come back and it's killing him.

_Always_.

 

It's what they used to say when one of them failed to be strong.

We'll be there for the others, right? For each other?

_Always_ , they used to say, followed by a reassuring smile or a sad, serious look in their grey eyes.

Gale's eyes are closed. The Meadow is beautiful this time of year, but his mind is somewhere else. He remembers the day he saw her strong mask falter for the first time, and how he swore to protect her, for as long as he shall live.

Always.

 

He opens his eyes and ignores the heavy feeling that's suddenly pressing against his chest. She's not there, and chances are big that she won't ever return to the Meadow again.

The sudden loneliness gets him on his feet, and he grabs a stone about the size of his hands, vanishing it into the woods nearby with an angry throw. A flock of birds angrily flies away, but he doesn't bother to take his bow. 

Hunting was something they usually did together; just the two of them. _He_  coaxed the animals to leave their shelters, while _she_  ensured that they didn't reach their homes, but instead ended up in a nice stew or as a trade in the Hob. 

It's what they used to do, but _she's_ not in Twelve anymore. And so hunting means nothing.

Nothing at all. His bow lies a few yards away, alone and deserted. It's how he feels, but he doesn't want to admit it just yet. He's strong, and he's doing what he always did. What they always did, together.

He gets to his feet. He has game for tonight, so he'll hunt again tomorrow. It makes him think of her too much, and it hurts. Hunting forces his turtured mind to reel back in time to times where hunting gradually became equal to happiness. Back to the times when he slowly became aware of how much she meant to him. Of how much she made this life bearable. Of how he made promises of protection and a friendship that would never, ever end.

It's a thought he can't bear.

The woods are closing in on him as they always do these days. He's shocked, but not the least bit surprised, when he realizes how little these woods mean to him without her. _Because it's her, always,_ and now she's gone and it's killing him and chances are high that she won't return.

_Ever_.

 

The room he returned to is dead silent.

The people of District Twelve are watching the enormous screens in the middle of the square, but at the same time, nobody is really paying attention, because in this particular moment, nothing interesting really happens in the Games. 

Oh, they've been watching, every one of these horrible days, watching their tributes' every move - waiting for a sign of hope, a reminder not to give up. For a spark. For a, by now terribly needed, sign that at least _one of them_ will survive and return home safely.

The Hunger Games.

When they had first become such a close part of his life, Gale had not shown much interest in the Games. While contradictory to his closeness to Katniss, it was really simple; he couldn't bear watching Katniss' fight for survival among a bunch of blood-thirsty brutes. The Careers, they called them.

Gale still isn't able to comprehend how even The Careers, who remain the Capitol's slaves nonetheless, could actually look forward to these games. It's sick. The bloodlust in their eyes fills him with disgust. He despises them, her cruel competitors, who - all the same - were just like her.  _Innocents_ , intended to die for the pleasure of those who lost humanity a long time ago.

They were just children. They had mothers and fathers, too, anxiously waiting, hopelessly praying for them to please return safely - and if not, to at least die a peaceful death.

Every district seems another world, but Gale knows with unwavering certainty that no matter how big the differences between the districts, these times are different. He know that during the weeks of the Games, every inhabitant, no matter which district they're coming from, is doing the same single thing: they pray. 

 

When the Games had started, Gale had often run off to the Meadow where he used to sit with Katniss. He had tried to imagine that the Hunger Games were nothing but a nightmare, soon to wake up from. Only a nightmare, nothing bad.

Sometimes, he still told himself that lie. In a few hours, he would open his eyes, get dressed, light the fire in their house so the others wouldn't be cold, and take off into the woods again. There, Katniss would already be checking his snares. She always liked to be the first one there - and he started to find joy in allowing her this small victory, so he made sure to run _exactly_ slow enough for her to be first.

Nightmare.  _Nothing but a nightmare._

It's like a mantra - a bad one -, but it keeps him from going insane.

He knows it's useless. Not a single person in District Twelve would ever wake up from  _this_ nightmare.  If living under the Capitol's rule and going through Reaping each year was called living a nightmare, then the start of the 74th Hunger Games was the exact moment where Gale realized that nightmares were much, much worse.

 

_Don't let them starve._

Her last words still echo in his ears. It haunts him, how she made him promise to take care of her family, because he understood what he had _actually_ said - that she predicted that she would never return alive. And his promise... He knows well enough what she meant. She needs it to last forever, because there's a chance that  _she_ will not last for a lifetime.

And although there is nothing he wouldn't do for her (or for her family), although he sacrifices every piece of meat, every carefully plucked bush of edible plants he can find to take care of Prim and her mother - Gale never feels as if he's fulfilled his duty, the promise he made to Katniss before she was ripped away from his life for good.

_Katniss._

The one girl that actually matters to him in this district, apart from his own family and Prim. But then again, the latter one is only an extension of the affection he feels for the elder sister.

"You alright, Gale?" Prim stands next to him, big eyes full of genuine concern, and he shrugs. How did she get here? She and her mother usually watch the games from the little television screen on the dresser at their home.

It's because her mother can't stop crying. People don't discuss her tears, nor do they judge them, but Mrs. Everdeen insists on watching the games at home, so one questions the desperate decisions of a mother who's lost half of her family already.

"Shouldn't you be at home?"

His answer is ruder than he intends it to be, but Prim doesn't take offense and she smiles the faintest of smiles. She takes his hand, softly stroking the back of it, as if he were that ridiculous cat of hers, then leaves him in peace, making her way out of the crowded, smothering square.

Gale knows more about Katniss' family than the people of District Twelve, more about why her mother can't bear to watch the Games together with other people, who wish for Katniss' return as much as she does. Prim told him, right after the Games had started, how Katniss ordered -  _forced_ \- her mother not to break down again. That she had to be strong for Prim. Gale also knew what Katniss had really intended to say, regardless of her promise to Prim. 

_I_ _won't come back alive._

That's what Mrs. Everdeen understood. And it's the same thing Gale understood, just like he understood the promise she needed him to make: a prediction of her nearing death.

So Gale doesn't judge her mother or make an effort for her to stick to her promise to Katniss. Because he knows, better than anyone, that when it comes to most possibly never seeing Katniss again, being strong is a promise that's simply too much to bear.

 

_I don't know how to be strong._

It's what he heard her, Katniss, mumble on the day they were told their fathers had died in the mine explosion. They were all too hurt, too mournful to be there for each other at that moment, to connect one loss to another and support each other.

If they did, Gale would have seen the strength rousing in Katniss' tear-stained face, even when her voice was wavering and her hand trembled with such force that the Peacekeepers had to take away the cup of herbal tea the family members were all given.

She didn't cry.

She never cried.


	2. Two

His hands crunch up in big, angry fists. It doesn't help him calm down.

Fury rises at the Capitol - at the Gamemakers, at those hideous creatures who, a thousand miles away from District Twelve, are pleasantly witnessing nothing more than _unhuman_ episodes of slaughter, without a further thought. They enjoy it. It's not so much the bloodlust that makes him choke on a ragged breath, but rather the absurd inhumanity of it all. He's used to blood and killing, because it's been like that for a large part of his life; just not like this. Not when there's undoubtedly a few hundred horrible betting games running, not when there's colourful snacks advertised in between one killing and the next, just like that. 

A deep, humming voice to his right and an accompanying soothing hand on his shoulder remind him that he's in District Twelve.

"Gale, boy..."

It's a miner his mother has recently come to know better. Gale doesn't care for him, but ever since the two met at the Square, his mother has worn a smile ever so often and surprisingly, that careful, hesitating bout of happiness suited her, so he doesn't complain either. 

"She'll survive, boy. She's a strong one." Another pat, and the man leaves him alone.

 

_She'll survive._

He hopes so. He's never prayed for anything more than he does now. His nails, dirty from the coals, dig deep and desperate holes into the palms of his hands.

She's so innocent. She always hated it when people looked at her like that. _She_  thought she was hardened by life; she was the girl who made sure that no living soul in District Twelve mistook her for that broken, crying girl from years ago, lost in sentimental stutterings on the day she lost her father.

Katniss Everdeen was supposed to be tough. Merciless when necessary. A caretaker, not one to dwell on insecurities and  _what ifs_. It's exactly how she holds herself together in the Games as well, as if she has everything under control. As if she's always one step ahead of the Gamemakers - and Gale is not surprised if that might actually be true.

The cameras are focused on her face, which shows nothing but careful composure. Suddenly, though, one of the cameras zooms in on Rue, who could easily be mistaken for Prim - innocent, little Prim - trapped in a net. And although she's _right there_ , and she must be filled with a fear that no human being would ever be able to bear, Katniss' face gives away nothing at all. Not even a glimpse. 

It's how District Twelve knows her, and it makes him proud - and sad. He averts his eyes from the screen. He knows better. He knows the pain she tries to hide. He knows her every expression, the differences in her face, so very subtle but _there_ nonetheless.

He reads her like a book, although she never knew and he never told her. He knows all about her, but right now, all he knows is that she can't lose. She has to win, because if she doesn't, Gale isn't sure how to continue and he needs her - needs her _here with him_ - and the realization scares him more than he cares to admit.

A voice from the Games slowly draws his attention back to the screen and he looks up. He has to. This is nothing like those first days. Watching the games is bad, but _not_ watching them will kill him.

Suddenly, there's Katniss - giving in, giving up, crying over something that must so obviously be the terrible death of little Rue.

Gale realizes well enough that the Gamemakers must have cut out most details about Rue's death to spear the people of the Capitol, but he also knows there's got to be more to it. Because for Katniss to collapse _like this_ , the gravity of the scene would have to be equivalent to nothing less than the death of Prim.

 

_I wish she were home._

He does. There's nothing on earth that he wishes for but Katniss, safe and sound at home and wrapped up in his arms - although she was never _that_ kind of girl.

But truth be told, Gale doesn't care anymore about the kind of girl Katniss is supposed to be for the sake of the Capitol. These Games, they play with his mind; with his heart - but he chooses to ignore the stinging feeling in his chest.

Then he hears the announcement, Claudius Templesmith's voice echoing through the arena. The square, moments ago filled with chunks of chatter, is dead silent now, the only sound coming from the wind howling through the streets. It reflects the exact mood of every inhabitant of District Twelve in these times: dark and cold, but strong.

There's hope again.

The announcement is short and simple, and deadly confusing at the same time. But Gale is a quick thinker. His heart flutters with hope, and with a crushing feeling of helplessness, more than ever, as realization dawns on him.

She can survive.

They both can survive. If she can find Peeta.

 

 _Peeta_.

The one who claims to have loved Katniss his whole life. The one who - as Gale was quick to understand - helped to keep her alive during the Games, because of their so-called romance.

It's just a strategy. He knows it's a strategy, but how he knows... There's no answer to that, only questions.

_He just knows - and it hurts._

Gale only saw one fragment of the interviews, but of course it had to be Peeta's. Of all the interviews he could have interrupted on, for God's sake. And then he heard Peeta declare his love for Katniss, _his Katniss_ , for the eyes and ears of all of Panem. As if this is their damn business. 

At the time, Gale could only snort. He hadn't understood the exact feelings that rushed through him at Peeta's announcement, but he didn't have to be a genius to figure out that jealousy was major part of it.

His heart is beating against his chest as he watches Katniss run through the woods, frantically looking for Peeta. Gale forces himself to breathe in and out slowly. It's the only way he manages to continue watching, and as the hours pass, Gale does nothing but watch Katniss' every move, her every expression that manages to make it past her carefully constructed façade of nothingness.

And it hurts him to admit it, but - God, he needs her to find Peeta.

Because he knows she would never leave him behind. 

And she has,  _she has to_  come home.

_He needs her._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's not much action in this or in the next chapter, I'm sorry. Though it's not my usual style, I did like writing this sad and purely internal reflection by Gale on everything that's been happening.   
> I also noticed that many people don't like Gale, which was a bit of a surprise to me because I've always seen it be the other way around.   
> Last thing: this is not an Everlark story (the scenes just take place at the same time that Everlark is growing to be A Thing), so if you're waiting for more of that, I'm afraid you'll be disappointed by the rest of the chapters. 
> 
> Thank you for reading! Next chapter will be up in a few days.


	3. Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On screen, some Everlark happens and poor Gale is finally forced to face his feelings.

"Gale, are you coming home?"

It's Rory, tugging at his brother's sleeve because sometimes this seems to be the only way to get through to Gale at this stage of the Games.

A couple of days have passed and Gale is obviously in no state of reaching home safely. The way he's crouched on a barrel in the farthest corner of the square makes the whole district exchange glances of pity at the sight of him, but they never reach his eyes.

It's as if he hopes to disappear from the terrible scene altogether, although every soul in District Twelve knows that Gale would never leave Katniss out of sight when the Games are _this_ close to an end.

He's stuck, up here on this stupid wooden barrel with nothing but his own heart as the most miserable of companions. And there's this growing frustration, too. His confusion. And anger, towards Peeta, towards the Gamemakers, towards the Capitol, towards _Katniss_ - although he doesn't understand in the slightest where _that's_ coming from. 

"Gale?" 

"No, you go. I'll stay just a bit longer." 

Rory nods, then leaves. They both know that at this point, Gale won't leave the almost empty square until he sees with his own eyes that Katniss _will_ return home. Still, Rory doesn't hesitate to ask Gale to come home with him, night after night.

 

As the hours pass, Gale's eyes are glued to the screen, even when nothing interesting happens. Still, his ears capture every word uttered between the so-called lovers, ranging from an angered scream to a fearful whisper.

He is lost, so lost that even when Katniss shares her happiest memory, and Gale knows that he must play a role in it, the thought doesn't cheer him up. It doesn't even pull at the strings of his own memories, of their hunting trips, or of how much he loved her without even knowing he did.

There's a small crowd gathered in front of the screens. They are the people who now tentatively, but increasingly enthusiastic, start to believe the tributes of Twelve might actually stand a chance.  _They might return home._ But not even their carefully cheerful encouragements can put a hint of hope on his face, and Gale closes his eyes in an attempt to empty his head.

There's a coldness inside him that slowly starts to eat away at his heart. There's a feeling of something that Prim would undoubtedly call  _lovesick_ , but Gale doesn't attempt to analyze what's going on with  _that_ because it only leads to more questions - more anger, confusion, frustration.

And hope.

Because it's mighty obvious to even the dimmest onlooker that with her every _attempt_ at affection towards Peeta, her chances of returning home are growing. Peeta might have the Capitol in his pocket, but Katniss is a quick learner - and right now, even Gale can't convince himself anymore that the star-crossed lovers of District Twelve are just a strategy for survival.

That's when it happens.

A kiss.

 _Again_.

They've kissed before, of course. It was painful, but it was nothing. It was an act, visibly so. Gale knew her well enough to figure that out. He does read her like a book, after all. But it's a kiss nonetheless, and this one seems different.

It  _is_ different.

Suddenly, he wishes he doesn't know her at all, because then at least he wouldn't be able to tell the difference between all their attempts at intimacy- at _genuine affection_.

He can't take it. Not anymore.

He feels as if his heart shatters into a thousand pieces, sharp and one hundred percent lethal.

Why don't they stop? Why doesn't she react?

Why does it look real?

_Why does it look so fucking real?_

 

"Gale?"

The mayor's daughter is next to him. Gale doesn't react; it's only Madge, and the only things on his mind have _Katniss_ written all over them.

He has trouble breathing, taking small draws of breath but he's failing and it only feels as if his body is forgetting how to breathe altogether.

And then he finds his composure again, and the only sign showing his unease is the tight set of his muscled chest. Madge looks at him as if he will explode any moment now, but his mask is quiet and composed, and he is lost in thoughts. He should have expected this. Of course he should have expected this! These are the infamous star-crossed lovers from District Twelve, who have stolen the Capitol's heart.

 _These people_  have  _no heart,_ he vaguely thinks.

His fists are rock hard, human bombs of anger, fear, guilt. There's a mixture of feelings and he doesn't even bother to figure them out. They knot together, happily clashing into one another and creating the most deliciously indissoluble drab of nothingness. 

His feelings are a punishment and _he hates them_.

He hates everything right now.

 

He should have protected her. He should have  _done_ something. Started a revolution or something. Or spit at Effie's ridiculously painted face, or in that wig of hers. Or just... just ran away with Katniss when he had suggested it to her earlier, before the Reaping. 

Except that she had refused his offer, hadn't she? He wondered why. Perhaps she didn't deem him as important as she was to him. If she even knew how much she meant to him, surely she wouldn't have refused him so harshly?

Or would she... Does she even know? She  _has_  to know how he feels about her.

He growls, frustrated. Of course she doesn't know. She's so damn  _innocent._

Should he have told her? How he grew attached to her, very slowly, and how she was the only one who was able to calm his fears. How she made him feel alive. Happy, almost.

A kiss on her nose from Peeta, almost as sweet as the miniature cakes Peeta used to decorate back when he was still just the baker's favorite son instead of this wildly celebrated lover from District Twelve.

And right now, they don't look like anything _except_ two lovers, desperately seeking refuge against the Capitol's crimes. They seem almost...  _happy_.

 

That's all it takes. 

He can't see more of this. The barrel rolls away loudly in the now almost empty square, but Gale is already outside. He doesn't have the slightest idea where he could possibly run to and feel safe, but he runs. Anywhere is good enough, as long as it removes the close-up image of Katniss kissing Peeta from his mind.

(It doesn't.)

His mind won't shut up. Instead of finding distractions in the deserted, dark alleys of the district, his memory recreates the imagery, tattooing itself against his eyelids, making sure that he'll never forget.

He trips, falls, rolls over in the pebbles and sand. They scratch into his skin with ugly red streaks, but he gets up and doesn't bother looking at his leg. What really hurts is on the inside, where every bone, every vein, every nerve in his body screams in the agony he refused to give in to for so, so long.

And he runs.

His vision blurs; he runs faster. Across the square, through the main street, past the Everdeen house, where there's a light on in Katniss' old room - but he runs past it without looking at the window, because if he stops running, there's no turning back.

He has truly lost her. The look on her face when she was kissing the baker's son will never leave his mind.

 

_I lost her._

He falls to his knees, unable to move any further, ignoring the sting of fir needles jabbing in his skin. 

A heartbreaking sound of sobs reaches his ears and it takes him another minute to fully realize that they're coming from his own heaving chest. The sound of his tears, now running freely, only smothers his attempts at quieting them. 

He doesn't care. There's no one he needs to pretend for now. There's not a soul on earth who can hear him, because there's not a soul who is stupid enough to go out on the streets this late.

No one to witness the breakdown of the great Gale Hawthorne, who has never been caught crying. 

There's not a person in Twelve who has ever seen Gale give up or wallow in self-pity. He's been the survivor, hunting for chances to lead a better life - like Katniss. Together, they'd never lose, but tonight, Gale finally learned what it was like to be lost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not too happy with the English in this part, but I've edited it as best as I could. Thank you for reading!


	4. Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gale is not the only one who's lonely, broken, and desperate for an escape. Madge knows exactly how he feels.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last one! 
> 
> Should I warn about a rating? The subject is mature, but it's more hinting and there's no descriptions. While I was editing this, it struck me that something felt wrong or off - but I can't quite put my finger on it so I made it the best I could. 
> 
> Thank you for reading. <3 Enjoy!

"Gale... It's cold outside. Come with me."

A hand on his shoulder, small and soft. Someone helps him stand up, guides him into a warm home.  _Madge._

A warm cup of herbal tea in front of him. He doesn't touch it.

A voice, quiet but determined. Her words are lost on him.

He looks up, but he doesn't see.

She asks if he's okay, and he hesitates. He wants to tell her _all is fine_ , and _go back, please_ and  _just leave me alone -_ but it's clearly not fine, and he's not sure whether he wants to be alone anymore, so he doesn't say anything at all, and he just stares at the stupid cup of herbal tea as if  _that's_  somehow the source of this problematic knot of feelings in his chest.

A sudden burst of anger overtakes him and he throws the cup, full of tea still, against the nearby wall with all the force he can muster. The porcelain scatters across the kitchen floor, the remnants of a soothing herbal tea most likely killing the sad attempt at something that was once a decorative plant on the dresser.

He waits for her anger, but it never comes and it confuses him - but cannot bring himself to feel it, to look up, to question. He expects her to snap at him for being ungrateful, for ruining the cup and probably more kitchen stuff in the process.

She doesn't say anything, and her soft silence is so unexpected that his eyes dart up to hers. This time, he sees her - really sees the person in front of him. Her eyes are big, warm, and brown - and all he can read in there is unadultered compassion and... pain. 

She knows what it's like.

 

_Madge._

She's soft beneath him.

Her hands soothe the heated waves of anger, scourging through his veins, radiating from his skin, in an attempt to all the feelings he's only just allowed himself to feel.

They're eating away at him, starting at the core, at his heart, and she knows. She's seen the despair in his eyes. She's seen him flee the Square at the sight of the star-crossed lovers, when there was not a single trace of _pretend_ left. Not anymore.

They went to her room, not so long ago. Neither of them bothered with words when their mouths came crashing down on one another. They know how it feels, the emptiness inside, tearing at their sanity. And they both desperately need to feel anything,  _anything_ , to avoid the looming insanity.

Madge sighs, the sound filling her bedroom but not her head. Only shared kisses of desperation could be heard against the stone cold wall of an empty home.

She feels bad for him, but she feels worse for herself.

The Games - they remind her, game after game. It never stops. She knows the memories, and the nightmares, will never end; her mother, tied to the bed, screaming in agony into the blackness of her bedroom, terrified of neverending, empty nightmares. 

They don't stop. Ever.

 

The Games, they're in her house, in her heart, in her head. Always.

She'll have to live with them, because this kind of cruelty, Madge knows, will never fade away. But she'll do anything to _make_ them fade away, even if it's just for one moment, one night in Gale's arms. His soft moans seamlessly mingle with barely hidden sobs - as do hers. They don't quiet down either, growing more prominent by the second. 

On a normal day, she would fear that someone might hear them. But in this instant, Madge doesn't care. He takes away her tension and she knows - she feels - that he's taking out the empty desperation on her.

It's the injustice of it all. The misery, the feeling of despair and... the loneliness.

Oh, the loneliness.

She needs someone, just  _someone_ , to help her make it through moments like this - so she's horribly thankful that Gale is with her, because although she may be strong, Madge is only a broken human and she needs company, someone to hold her, to divert her attention from her mother's nightmares and from the Games which now _again_ hold a loved one - her friend.

 

His mouth against her neck, leaving a trail of absent-minded, desperate kisses. His weight on her well-fed but still frail body. The sound he makes when she grasps a handful of dark hair and pulls him closer.

_Closer._

She needs him closer. She needs to feel his presence. She needs to  _feel_ , everywhere, not only surrounding her. And he needs her too. She knows it. She feels it - and the void that she lives with feels a little less lonely. She can sense it too, and it's heating up her bedroom with such a sudden warmth that they both, for that single split second, forget the terrible cold that took them over on the day of the Reaping.

It's almost as if there's an end to the nightmares, a _pause_ , and when they reach it without giving it a second thought and allow it to push them over the edge, there's a moment of bliss, and in that bliss there is...  _nothing_. 

Nothing at all, and Madge knows that these few seconds of nothingness are a thousand times better than the nightmare they soon will fall into again.

 

Silence settles in her bedroom and they lie still on her bed, breathing heavily and trying to hold onto the last seconds of another world, because they know that as soon as they open their eyes again, the nightmares will come back. 

She clings to him, afraid to let go. She's not sure, but she thinks his arms cling to her, too, in that same insane way.

Fear. Loneliness.

_I'm lost._

His distraction is all she needs. She knows she'll lose herself again when she has to go back to reality, but for now, distraction is all she needs.

As for Gale, it's all he can do to take away the agony that's rushing through his every vein. He doesn't bother to consider thinking through his actions. And he'd do it all over again if he has to. He'd do anything for a moment to forget.

But his mind is recovering faster than his body and the images he tried to escape are happily waking up again, burning like a sun.

His heart crumbles.

He panics. Faster than she could ever imagine, he gets up and reaches for his clothes, casting a hint of a glance towards Madge before exiting the room in a run.

The door is still open.

She looks at it with empty eyes but doesn't bother to feel sad. Her door will always be open for him, and in that last glance he shot at her, she read all she needed. She know now that his door will be open for her, too. Even without confirmation, she felt it at the center of their desperation.

A lingering scream from another bedroom shatters the careful safety of her own haven, and Madge leaves the soft, still warm spot of peace on her bed. As she gathers her clothes and dresses, to go check on her mother, she notices a piece of cloth laying next to the door. 

It's Gale's. 

She doesn't need to see it, she just knows. She could recognize from anywhere that same feeling of loneliness, the smell of despair, of tears refusing to be spilled.

She'll always know - and he'll always come back, because that's the reality of waiting for the Games to be over.

 _Until it all starts again_. 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it for this short story! Please let me know whether you liked it? 
> 
> PS: Despite the fact that I have been a Gale/Katniss shipper at some point, _this_ pairing seemed so natural to me suddenly. Thoughts?


End file.
